


so dig that knife on in

by unholyconfessions (orphan_account)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Character Death, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt, Fix-It of Sorts, Heavy Angst, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Possibly Unrequited Love, Set Post 2.17 - Flash Back, Time Travel, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-05-31 06:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6460081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/unholyconfessions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That’s it; he’s officially the unluckiest person in the entire world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [define_serenity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/define_serenity/gifts).



> I blame the way Barry looked at Eddie this episode. That is all. Title's from the Flatliners' Brilliant Resilience, which is like my own personal Thallen anthem.
> 
> Anyway, happy reading! Feedback always welcome. :-)

Barry doesn’t run home that night.

He can’t bring himself to, can’t think of looking Iris in the eye and not telling her about Eddie, not telling her that he _saw_ Eddie, alive and well, so in love with her that Barry felt insignificant next to him.

Still, he plays the video on his phone over and over again, watches the way Eddie’s entire face lights up when he talks about her—about how much she means to him, about how much she deserves to be happy—and Eddie’s words eat at him from the inside out.

She deserved to be happy, with Eddie. She _was_ happy with him, until Eddie paid for the decisions Barry made, and maybe she has too much of a good heart to see it, but it’s the truth—Eddie’s gone because of him.

“Happy birthday, baby! I love you.”

Barry stares at Eddie’s frozen smile on the screen, doesn’t realize he’s stopped in the middle of the sidewalk until someone stumbles right into his back. He mutters an apology and slips the phone back into his pocket, ineffectively counts his steps home to keep his brain busy. 

As he stands on the front porch, his eyes set on the door, too afraid to step inside, an infinite string of what-ifs flood his thoughts. What if he had stayed in the past, made sure the singularity never happened? What if Caitlin still had Ronnie, and Iris still had Eddie? What if Eddie never had to sacrifice himself?

“Hey, Bar.”

Barry’s fingers tighten around the handle as he pushes the door open, metal cold against his palm. His eyes sweep over the room to find Eddie sitting on the couch, a smile on his face and the top buttons on his shirt casually undone—an image not unlike any other time Iris had him over for pizza.

Barry opens his mouth and closes it as fast as the nausea hits him. He leans against the closed door, vision spinning.

“You okay?”

He hears Eddie’s movement more than he sees it as Eddie walks up to him, one hand reaching for his bicep, squeezing. He nods, unable to draw in a breath, stutters, “I’m—I’m fine,” and moves away from Eddie’s touch, wraps one arm around himself.

“Barry, you’re home!” Iris’ voice sounds from a distance. She makes a face as she emerges from the kitchen, chuckles. “I might have eaten your share of the pizza.”

Barry blinks, swallows, takes a step back; his body refuses to stand still. “That’s—fine,” he says, and his hands shake as he hides them inside his pockets. “I’m not hungry.”

Iris’ smile cracks into a frown. “Are you okay?”

He glances at her, then at Eddie, can’t process the look in Eddie’s eyes. He nods again, nails digging into his palms, and Iris raises her eyebrows.

“Okay,” she says, not entirely convinced. “I was about to steal dad’s ice cream. You want some?”

“Yeah, sure.” Barry shuffles his feet. “I just, um, need to use the bathroom.”

Barry’s feet move fast, hammering the hardwood beneath them. He reaches the bathroom and locks the door behind him, his fingers shaking badly, and a strangled noise escapes his chest. He slides down to the floor and presses the heel of his hands against his eyes.

How did this happen?

There’s a moment’s silence between the knock on the door and the next breath he takes. He picks himself up and stands on unstable knees, leans against the sink for support.

Eddie’s voice is soft as it comes through the door, laced with worry, “Barry, is everything alright?”

No, Barry wants to say, but decides on, “Yeah, I just need a minute,” instead.

He sighs when he hears no answer, closes his eyes, presses his forehead to the mirror and waits, hopes Eddie isn’t waiting for him when he comes out. 

Unfortunately for him, he’s never had such luck.

“Hey, Eddie,” he says, unable to bring himself to look at him.

“Babe, if this is about Zoom—”

Out of instinct, Barry places a hand on Eddie’s chest to keep him from stepping closer, interrupts, “What’d you just say?”

No, no, no, no. No.

“I know you’ve been worried about Zoom, but—”

“No.” Barry steps away, swallows. “Not that.” 

Eddie breathes out a worried little laugh. “Babe, I didn’t say anything else.”

Barry raises his eyebrows. Eddie cocks his head and gives him an expectant look. Yeah. That’s it; he’s officially the unluckiest person in the entire world.

“Oh, my god,” Barry says. He stares at Eddie, tries to gather his abruptly shattered focus as his throat closes up. How could something like this happen? Just how badly did he screw up the past? He needs to talk to Cisco or Caitlin or _anyone_. “I need to go.”

Eddie’s hand finds his arm before he can go, a grip that makes Barry want to turn and run, but he doesn’t, even if he can. 

This time, when he meets Eddie’s gaze, it’s not shock that overcomes him. He inhales a half-breath, watches as Eddie studies his face with such a quiet reverence that the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention in a spark of dangerous curiosity.

“Eddie—” he starts, the name hoarse and broken on his tongue, but Eddie shakes his head.

“No, Allen.” Eddie tugs him closer, hand slipping from Barry’s arm to Barry’s wrist, thumb rubbing at a spot not even Barry knew could make his stomach flutter like that. Barry’s shoulders fall. “I’ve got your back, no matter what. You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

Barry nods, for lack of a better response, and swallows. He watches Eddie lean forward, doesn’t close his eyes even as Eddie’s lips meet his, but it’s hard not to when Eddie knows exactly when and where to touch him: a thumb across his jawline, fingers pressed to the side of his neck just hard enough that Eddie can probably feel Barry’s pulse beneath the skin.

In a flash of lucidity, Barry reaches for Eddie’s wrist and peels his hand away, steps back, opens his eyes to find Iris standing at the end of the hallway with her lips pursed as if to hold back a laugh.

“You two, stop making out,” she calls out in amused frustration. “Ice cream’s melting.”

Barry wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, hides an uncomfortable whimper into a cough. A smile dangles on the corner of Eddie’s lips as Barry glances at him, and nausea pools in the pit of Barry’s stomach all over again.

Just how badly did he screw up the past?

 _Badly,_ apparently.


	2. Chapter 2

Three bowls of half-melted, half-eaten ice cream sit on the table as Eddie announces that it’s late and he has to leave, giving Barry an awkward hug and an attempt at a kiss that earns them a curious look from Iris.

“Sorry,” Barry mutters as Eddie goes for his mouth and he dodges, fingertips still tingling from the kiss they weren’t supposed to have shared. 

Eddie frowns at him, loosening the grip he has on Barry’s arm, and Barry chuckles, can’t think of an excuse that would sound even remotely plausible, and tries again, eyes screwed shut as his mouth touches Eddie’s. He pulls away after three methodical seconds, breath like a knot in his throat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Eddie says, voices it like a question he doesn’t want to hear the answer to. 

Eddie’s smile betrays him but Barry nods, smiles back and hopes it reaches his eyes, says, “Yeah.”

The moment he closes the door after Eddie, a slap hits him hard on the arm. He flinches even though he’s not particularly surprised, and turns to find Iris glowering at him.

“Barry, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Barry swallows. Maybe he should start a list of things he’s done wrong. “I’m. . . sorry?”

“You kept him waiting for an entire hour!”

Oh.

“Sorry.” Barry clears his throat. “I should’ve called but, um, we had a situation over at S.T.A.R. Labs,” he lies, doesn’t stop to think about the possibility of Iris not knowing about him being the Flash or about the work they do at S.T.A.R. Labs in this timeline—this Earth, whatever _this_ is—until the words are out of his mouth. “I’m really sorry, Iris.”

Iris breathes out a sigh and shakes her head, offers him a hint of a smile. “It’s not me you should be apologizing to, you know,” she tells him, her eyes holding a kind of hard-edged indulgence that isn’t unfamiliar to him. He smiles back at her, at the semblance of normalcy, his shoulders falling, and she rubs the side of his arm, eyebrows rising in her forehead. “Eddie’s the greatest guy you’ve ever dated, Bar. Don’t take him for granted.”

Barry nods, squeezes her hand, and tries not to dwell on the fact that he’s never dated _any_ guy, ever.

*

In the morning, Barry takes comfort in the fact that the same too-short curtains on his window offer just the annoyingly right amount of sunshine straight to his face, as they should, despite the fact that they’re the wrong color.

He rubs at his eyes and takes in a breath—is that a different fabric softener?—that doesn’t do much to calm his nerves. He rolls over on his back, stares at the ceiling, counts the seconds in his head and breathes out a sigh, tries not to think of everything that he might have caused to change.

There’s a pink post-it glued to the outside of his bedroom door when he's about to leave, telling him to _talk to Eddie_ in Iris’ handwriting. He chuckles at it before ripping it off and shoving it inside his pocket, already ten minutes late for work.

He drops by the CCPD and stays long enough for Singh to notice he’s there, but not Eddie. Eddie’s making his way down the stairs, disappointment clear on his face, when Barry leaves in an imperceptible blur. 

Barry wonders if he’s the reason behind it.

*

Caitlin’s at the med bay when Barry arrives at S.T.A.R. Labs, her typical white lab coat thrown over her shoulders as she stares at what Barry assumes is his own DNA in her monitor. He smiles at the sight, leans against the doorframe as he taps on the glass.

“Can I talk to you and Cisco for a sec?” 

She smiles back when she notices him there, quirks an eyebrow at him, says, “Of course.”

Barry nods toward the cortex and she follows him, hands safely tucked inside her coat as she takes the seat next to Cisco. Cisco is more entranced by the Red Vine he’s chewing on than what Barry has to say; Barry takes it from him and chucks it over his shoulder, hears it hit the floor before Cisco’s protest of, “Dude!”

After a breath, he announces, “I’m dating Eddie.”

Caitlin raises her eyebrows before narrowing her eyes at Barry, a curious smile tugging on her lips. She exchanges a look with Cisco. Cisco stares at him.

“Yeah, and water’s wet,” Cisco says, digging into his package of Red Vines for another one.

Barry sighs in defeat, hands on both sides of his hips, and shakes his head. “No, you don’t understand. I’m dating Eddie now, _after_ I travelled back in time.” Barry says, over-enunciating the words, and Cisco’s face contorts into that sort of expression he gets whenever he’s about to have a revelation.

At least that hasn’t changed.

“But you weren’t. . . before?”

“Exactly!” Barry paces around the cortex, feet heavy against the pristine floor. He rubs at the spot above his eyebrows where a headache is threatening to stage a stellar comeback, closes his eyes.

He turns back around when Cisco makes a noise, watches Cisco hop onto his feet and walk over to the board they made before Barry left, and Barry follows him.

“Oh, man. This is gold.” Cisco chuckles, not unlike a ten-year-old kid. He stops, arms folded over his chest. “Maybe we missed something.”

Barry shakes his head, eyes scanning over the list of words— _no Earth-2, no breaches, no time travel, dad still in prison_ —and finding no fault in them. “No. That’s exactly how everything was when I went back.”

Except. . .

“Maybe we should’ve kept track of people’s dating lives,” Cisco mentions as he erases half of the board. He divides the space between three parallel, horizontal lines crudely drawn in black—black?—marker, same as the half-erased list. “Alright, so you went back roughly a year.”

Barry scans the room for the white one he remembers using before he travelled back, without luck.

Cisco glances at Barry and Barry nods, startled, crosses his arms, says, “Yeah, yeah. Iris was still apparently dating Eddie.” He lifts his eyebrows when both Caitlin and Cisco stare at him, trails a careful look between them. “What?”

“Barry,” Caitlin says as she walks over to them, her soft tone hinting at just a little worry for his mental state, “Eddie and Iris never dated. You started dating around the time he transferred from Keystone.”

Barry laughs, but he’s not amused. “That’s not possible.” Is it? “I didn’t even—" A swallow. "I didn’t go that far back!”

Cisco holds the marker up in the air, nodding. “No, but listen.” He draws a point in the first horizontal line, named Timeline 1. “This is you, before you went back in time, right? No dating Eddie.” He looks at Barry and Barry nods, sighs. “This one, where we’re at now,” he says, tapping at the third line, “was created mere seconds _after_ you went back—”

“I was that fast?”

Cisco waves a hand. “Time travelling, man.” He stares at the board in fascination for a moment before he shakes his head and mutters, “Back to the problem. The middle line is the new one you went back to, a year ago.” He traces a diagonal line from the first line to the second, and Barry’s stomach flips in alarm. 

“New one?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Cisco nods. “The moment you travelled back, you created another timeline, but in the past. Then, you went forward to the present, _but_ ,” Cisco says, awestruck, marker connecting the second line to the third, “not _your_ present. You went into the wrong timeline. This timeline.” 

Barry stares at the simple, yet so needlessly complicated diagram, heart stuck in his throat, and almost jumps when Caitlin’s hand touches his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

He blinks, mutters, “Yeah,” and takes a purposeful step forward to watch the board more closely. He looks at Cisco, trying to make sense of it. “Wait, Cisco. If I’m in the wrong timeline, then where’s this Barry, your Barry?”

Cisco taps the butt of the marker against his chin. “Good question.”

“Maybe he traveled into the wrong timeline as well,” Caitlin offers. “He could be in any of these three different timelines, or another one altogether.”

Cisco holds up the marker. “ _Or_ he got his face eaten by a Time Wraith, which is a slightly more horrifying thought.”

“Slightly?” Barry grimaces at Cisco. He plops down onto the closest chair and buries his face in his hands, mutters into them, “Great, that’s great.”

If Cisco’s right—and Barry believes he is, because what else could this be?—then the Caitlin and Cisco from his original timeline are still waiting for him to come back. If he doesn’t, Iris will have lost Eddie _and_ him, and while he’s sure she can handle it, she doesn’t deserve it.

Glancing back up to the board, he runs every possibility in his head, and still can’t think of a good reason to simply accept his fate. If he stayed, he’d be abandoning everything he cares about, everyone he loves, and while he knows the people from this timeline, and they think they know—and love—him, they’re not _his_ reality, and he’s not theirs.

I’d be unfair to him and to them, to lie like that; to lead Eddie—who’s alive and well and, _fuck_ —on, to pretend that everything he knew to be true and isn’t anymore, is okay. He can’t be that selfish.

Barry nods to himself and takes in a breath, exchanges a look with Caitlin and Cisco when they turn to look at him. 

It doesn’t matter if his life is seemingly better here, if he’s supposed to be happy and Iris hasn’t lost the best person who could have loved her because instead Eddie loved _Barry_ from the start. 

He can’t stay.

“Barry,” Caitlin starts, but his name vanishes in the air before she can form a sentence.

Barry shakes his head as he gets to his feet, stares at the three interconnected lines on the board and says, heart pounding in his ears, “I have to go back.”


	3. Chapter 3

Barry shakes his head as he gets to his feet, stares at the three interconnected lines on the board and says, heart pounding in his ears, “I have to go back.”

There’s a second’s silence before Cisco’s voice fills the air:

“That’s impossible,” he says, eyebrows high on his forehead. Barry stares at him as he chews on his Red Vine. “There’s a million other timelines out there, man.”

“There has to be a way, Cisco,” Barry says, almost jumps when his phone buzzes against his thigh. He fishes it out of his pocket and sighs when he sees a text from Joe, shakes his head. “Just figure something out, okay? I have to go.”

Barry waits just long enough to see Cisco’s halfhearted nod before he’s at the crime scene, his kit in hand and a very dead body on the floor. His throat closes up once he catches sight of Eddie from a distance. He swallows, averting his eyes before they can meet Eddie’s, and looks around for Joe instead.

“Hey, Joe,” Barry calls, and Joe turns around, gives him a smile that he returns out of habit. The officer Joe was talking to gives Barry a nod and Barry nods back, waits until he leaves to ask, “So, what’ve we got?”

Joe brings him up to speed and Barry half-listens, nods even though he barely acknowledges the words. He takes a quick glance over his shoulder and catches a glimpse of a smile in his direction; it’s a slow, intimate curve of Eddie’s lips, one Barry’s seen directed at Iris but never at him, and the image dissolves in his brain and pools at the bottom of his stomach, warm and unfamiliar.

There’s a hint of humor in Joe’s voice when he asks, “Do you two need a minute?” 

Barry’s neck snaps back in Joe’s direction so fast his vision blurs at the sides. Joe raises his eyebrows. Barry shakes his head, shuffles his feet. “No—no. Sorry. It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause Eddie seems to disagree.”

Barry doesn’t have time to properly express the panic rising in his throat before Joe casually turns around and walks away, notepad in hand as if it were the most remarkable object in the world.

“Hey, Bar.”

Barry closes his eyes before he turns, ignores the way the silkiness in Eddie’s voice runs down his spine. He places his kit down on the ground, arm already straining from the weight of it, and spins on his heel to face Eddie. Eddie’s smile falters as he reaches for Barry’s arm, concern evident in the touch.

“Hey, Eddie,” Barry says, barely.

“Are you okay?” Eddie’s fingers close around his elbow and slide down to his wrist, thumb over his pulse. Barry forgets how to breathe. “About last night—”

“I didn’t mean to make you wait like that or act weird,” Barry interrupts him. Barry looks down at Eddie’s hand on him considers drawing his arm back. Instead, he breathes in Eddie’s cologne and car exhaust and fresh blood, shakes his head. “I guess it’s just gotten to me—all of this. I’m sorry.”

Eddie smiles and his fingers brush against Barry’s as he lets go of Barry’s wrist. He nods to the side, toward the body. “Any ideas?”

Barry swallows, shakes his head. “Not yet,” he says, “but I don’t think this was a meta.”

Someone calls after Eddie and Eddie glances over his shoulder and back at Barry, touches Barry’s arm again. “Alright, let me know what you find out.” He smiles. “I’ll see you at lunch, Allen.”

Barry smiles past the stifling hotness in his chest, watches Eddie go.

Lunch?

*

Barry finds out, as Eddie takes him by the hand—fingers intertwined, Eddie’s thumb caressing his as they walk—that lunch is at a burger joint down the street from the station that Barry doesn’t remember ever existing. 

Sweat prickles his skin where their fingers touched once Eddie frees his hand; he sighs in relief, but his head still weighs a thousand pounds on his shoulders, and only gets heavier from there.

A waitress comes by to escort them to a booth and Barry chokes on a breath as he meets Patty’s familiar smile. He opens his mouth to speak, but she’s quicker than him. “Right over here,” she says, touches the side of Barry’s arm, and Barry forgets what he was going to say in the first place.

Barry tucks his shock away and feels underdressed—what kind of a burger joint is this, again?—as they follow her across the floor and past countless people Barry doesn’t know but that seem to know him, all clad in suits and ties, not unlike Eddie. Barry acknowledges them but doesn’t give them a second thought, almost runs into Eddie’s back as they come to a stop, places a hand on Eddie’s shoulder to avoid the collision.

Eddie uses that same hand to pull him into a booth, the side of their thighs touching as they slide into place, and Barry swallows and swallows but doesn’t move his arm as it splays out across Eddie’s shoulders, barely hears Patty’s voice when she asks, “The usual?”

Eddie nods, beams at her. “Thanks, Pat.”

She nods back and strolls away with a smile on her lips, the clash of her heels against the expensive floorboards following the rhythm of Barry’s heart trying to burst a hole in his rib cage. 

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs, and Barry doesn’t realize just how close he is to Eddie’s face until he turns his head and the tip of his nose brushes against Eddie’s. “I can hear you from over here. Stop thinking.”

The panic is still there as Eddie kisses him; a gentle storm brews in his chest even though Eddie’s lips against his aren’t entirely unfamiliar anymore. He doesn’t kiss back because he shouldn’t, but mostly because his brain shuts down for that one moment and he enjoys the unusual quietness, the insignificant buzz in his ears that makes him slide his hand down the soft material of Eddie’s suit jacket.

Eddie lets out a small sound in his throat and Barry parts his lips out of instinct. Kissing Eddie isn’t different than kissing anyone else; Barry waits and listens for what feels good, does it again when there’s a hitch of breath or a quiet whimper and pulls away when it becomes less going-through-the-motions and more getting-into-it.

The magic evaporates once he’s moved away enough that only static in the air connects them, but he welcomes the lightheadedness that trails it, the queasiness that kills his appetite. It’s easier to control anxiety because he’s used it, used to the rush, used to the ever-present thoughts in his head, but he’s not used to whatever this is, used to Eddie.

He doesn’t want to be.

Eddie doesn’t seem to mind—or notice—when he scoots farther away, and Patty’s smile doesn’t falter when she comes back to place their burgers down on the table. Barry reciprocates the smile with less enthusiasm than he intended.

“Thanks, Patty,” he says before she leaves, and she gives him a wink that makes his stomach flutter.

He sighs, rubbing the side of his neck as he watches Eddie dive right into his burger and get his cheek thoroughly smeared with ketchup. He hands Eddie a napkin and Eddie chuckles as he wipes it away, goes right back to eating without a second thought.

Barry barely does more than pick at his food until he finally gives up and decides to push his plate away, but Eddie seems happy enough to steal Barry’s fries when he realizes his are gone.

Barry watches and watches some more in mild fascination. He’s never seen Eddie like this. Before any of this happened, he’d never seen Eddie smile like that, never noticed that mole right under Eddie’s collar, never stopped to think about Eddie in any way other than Iris’ boyfriend, because that’s what Eddie should be. 

_Iris’_ , not Barry’s. Never Barry’s.

But when were things ever that simple in his life?


	4. Chapter 4

The thought of being around Eddie is bad enough on its own, but actually _being_ there, breathing in the same air, ties a knot in his throat so tight that Barry can’t seem to breathe. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy Eddie’s company—he does, always has, to an extent—but this is different, _feels_ different because Eddie is so obviously _in love_ with him.

There’s nothing he can do about it except avoid it, for the most part. 

For the most part because work is still inevitable; Barry has to smile at Eddie from afar whenever the weight of Eddie’s gaze on his back has been sitting there too long to ignore, has to pretend his chest doesn’t want to burst open every time they pass by each other in a hallway and Eddie’s arm brushes against his.

Eddie smiles, watches, casually touches him, but never goes beyond that. Never.

They probably have some kind of agreement—Eddie and him, _the other him_ —because Barry’s always half-expecting to be pulled into a secluded corner or a dark closet and kissed senseless, but that doesn’t happen. It makes life easier for him, though not less complicated. 

He can simply make up a text from Cisco to avoid lunch, dinner, and any further embarrassment, doesn’t have to pretend he’s someone else, some other version of Barry that should be here instead of him. He doesn’t have to question himself—would other-Barry do this, say that, _kiss like that?_ —before every action, doesn’t have to keep his heartbeat in check every time there’s the possibility of Eddie kissing him, because Eddie won’t.

Not at work, and certainly not at S.T.A.R. Labs.

So he surrounds himself with Cisco, Caitlin, and Wells—and occasionally Hartley, who still makes Barry do a double-take whenever he’s casually standing in the cortex, more often than not bickering with Cisco—because it’s what’s closer to home, safe, so familiar yet so frustratingly _different_.

“Every time you make a decision, Barry, infinite other timelines are created where you made a different one,” Hartley says, gesturing at the mile-long formula on the board, one Barry’s stared at so much he could probably recite it backwards in his sleep.

Barry sinks into his seat. “So, you’re saying it’s impossible to find my original timeline.”

“No.” Hartley smirks, rolling the black marker between his fingers. “I’m saying it’s going to take a lot of work.”

“How much work?”

“That is impossible to know, Mr. Allen.”

Barry watches as Wells walks into the room, long legs closing the distance between him and the board, and grunts in frustration. 

He would sink further into the chair if there were any more room left before he hit the floor. He gives it a miserable spin instead, ignores the tension that stretches thin in the air, blinks twice before he acknowledges the heavy hand that drops on his left shoulder, his brain working at half the speed. 

“Go home, Barry,” says Wells. Barry looks at him. “Dr. Snow will let know you if there’s any news.”

*

Home isn’t an option. It unsettles him almost as much as Eddie, from the weirdly different wallpaper to the uncomfortable couch.

He grabs a midafternoon snack at Jitters instead, goes to see Iris. Her smile lights up the room as he walks into Central City Picture News. 

Barry maneuvers the coffee cups out of the way as she comes over to grab him by the waist and tug him into a hug, laughs into her hair.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages,” she says, tapping the side of his arm as they separate. She gestures for him to come over and he follows her to her desk. She gathers a bunch of newspaper clippings and folders and shoves them all into a drawer, looks up at him. “How are you, Barry?”

He breathes out a sigh and pulls up a chair so he can sit across from her. He slides her cup and a paper bag with a blueberry muffin inside across the desk, watches the satisfaction in her face as she bites into it. 

“I’m good,” he says after a moment, smiles, and she returns the gesture but worry tugs at the corner of her lips. Barry’s shoulders fall. “I’ve just been—tired. No one at S.T.A.R. Labs has figured out a way to—” he cuts himself short, takes a sip of his coffee and shakes his head, measures his words, “—to make me go faster.”

She nods. “So you’ve been staying at S.T.A.R. Labs all this time,” she says, as if the thought just dawned on her. He hums in agreement. “How’re you and Eddie?”

Barry watches her for a moment. He opens his mouth, gives out a humorless laugh. “I don’t know,” he says, looking down at his hands. He runs a thumb down the side of his cup, over his name scribbled in black. “I haven’t really—”

“Barry,” she says. He picks up his gaze. She offers him a smile, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “You need to stop blaming yourself for things you have no control over. Zoom is not your fault, just like Reverse Flash wasn’t, Bar. Eddie knows that. Talk to him.”

 _Eddie’s death was my fault,_ he wants to say but doesn’t. It wouldn’t matter anyway, would it? This version of Iris doesn’t know how it felt to hear the gunshot, to see blood seeping through Eddie’s shirt, right over his chest, to be so unbearably impotent as it spread and spread until—

She runs her thumb over his knuckles, quietly says, “Hey,” and he bites down onto his cheek, fights back the wetness in his eyes, shakes his head.

 _He_ knows. He remembers; he remembers the bottomless hole in his stomach, the hopelessness in Iris’ eyes as she refused to leave Eddie’s body, the guilt— _god_ , the guilt. 

“Sorry,” he says, taking his hand from hers to wipe at his eyes. He chuckles through the charged silence despite it being tragically unfunny, smiles. “I haven’t—gotten much sleep.”

He glances up at her and she smiles around her coffee, a thousand words hidden behind her stare. She sighs, places her coffee down on her desk and nudges him with a foot, watches him.

“Then go sleep, Barry,” she says.

Barry looks at her, takes a sip of his coffee, and nods.

*

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Barry opens his eyes but doesn’t move; it’s a long second until the low-lit wall in front of him swims back into view, Hartley’s shadow barely visible against it. 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” he says, turns around and sits up on the bed to watch Hartley slide one of Caitlin’s drawers open.

He looks up to meet Hartley’s gaze and Hartley offers him a little shrug and the trademark Hartley smirk. Barry chuckles when he realizes what’s sitting in Hartley’s hand; he never thought the sight of an inanimate object could bring him so much comfort, but there it is. 

“Came to steal one of Snow’s,” Hartley says, tapping the white marker against his palm. “I ran out.”

Barry props his elbows up on his knees, watches as Hartley leans against the desk and closes the drawer with his thigh. Barry looks down, swallows. “Any luck?”

“Not particularly.” After a moment, Hartley adds, “Aren’t you supposed to be at Thawne’s?”

Barry doesn’t know whether to cry or laugh—probably both, simultaneously—but he settles for a groan instead, eyebrows already knit together in preparation for the impending headache. “I don’t know; am I?” he asks, shoulders falling as he glances up to find a curious gleam in Hartley’s eyes.

“It’s Friday,” Hartley offers. Barry stares at him. “I’ve noticed you’re happy to leave, and even happier when you’re back on Monday.” Hartley averts his eyes, laughs. “I inferred.”

Barry tries not to think of the implications behind those statements. Instead, he hops to his feet and grabs his S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt. “Not me,” he says as he throws it on.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s not me,” Barry says. “I’m not that Barry.” 

Hartley opens and closes his mouth, hides his hands inside his pockets and smiles down at the floor before nodding and walking back toward the cortex. Before he disappears from Barry’s sight, he stops, offers Barry the kind of expectant look Barry’s used to getting only from Caitlin.

“You’re not that different.”

*

For ten minutes, Barry stands on the sidewalk across from Eddie’s after Caitlin texts him the address—how ridiculous is it that he never knew where Eddie lived in the first place?—and a _good luck_.

He imagines a dark cloud comically rolling in the patch of sky above him as he crosses the street. The wet asphalt dampens the hem of his jeans, but he doesn’t mind, doesn’t really care.

It’s easy to count the fifteen seconds it takes to go from point A to point B, and it’s just as easy—if not easier—to turn around and go, to text Eddie an apology and an excuse that wouldn’t sound any truer behind a lifeless screen, but easi _er_ has never been his forte.

So he goes through the trouble of not remembering how to breathe as he takes the stairs to the second floor and finds Eddie’s door. It stares at him in contempt as he holds up a fist in the air, ready to knock but not moving simply because he needs the extra time.

“You’re not that different,” he whispers to himself, but what if Hartley’s wrong?

Patty’s still in Central City and the furthest from a CSI or his ex-girlfriend Barry can think of, Hartley’s apparently a pretty stand-up guy, and Eddie’s alive and according to Iris the best boyfriend Barry could ever have.

This timeline might as well be in another universe; how can he _not_ be that different?

He closes his eyes, opens and closes his fist a dozen times before he gathers enough courage to actually knock. The sound echoes in his ears and is replaced by white noise as the door opens. 

Eddie’s expression goes from hopeful to surprised and back to a giddy kind of anticipation that stirs a tornado in Barry’s chest. Barry laughs for lack of a better reaction, looks down at his feet and doesn’t look back up until he hears Eddie’s voice.

“Barry.”

“Hey, Eddie,” he says, and the words sit between them, innocuous in the yellow hallway light as Barry meets Eddie’s gaze.

Barry opens his mouth, closes it. The ringing in his ears worsens at the sight of Eddie’s smile, so genuinely _happy_ to see him there.

In normal circumstances, the sound that leaves his chest might have been a laugh.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been meaning to finish this and post for a while now. I think I'm okay with how it turned out. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience and enjoy! :-)

_In normal circumstances, the sound that leaves Barry’s chest might have been a laugh._

Eddie mimics the sound—minus the inelegance and anguish, Barry thinks—and _that_ Barry’s seen before, heard before, so infectious he can’t help but smile in return, his pulse simmering down under his skin.

“Sorry, I lost track of time,” Barry says.

Eddie steps aside, gestures for Barry to come in and, this time, as the door closes behind them, Barry’s the one who reaches for Eddie’s hand, intertwines their fingers and makes Eddie stumble right into his personal space. He hopes he isn’t stepping over any boundaries as he wets his lips and runs his thumb down the side of Eddie’s hand.

“Look,” he says, takes in a shaky breath, “I know I’ve been distant lately, and you’ve every right to be upset—”

Eddie chuckles. “Babe, I’m not upset.”

“No?” Barry raises his eyebrows. Eddie nods; Barry smiles in relief. “Good. I just—” he sighs, “—don’t want to involve you in any of this anymore. There’s too much going on.”

They look at each other, Eddie’s eyes searching Barry’s face. Barry’s fingers twitch.

“You want space,” Eddie says, and Barry almost misses the question.

Barry looks around the room and back at Eddie, watches the way Eddie’s eyes flit down to his mouth and up. A week worth of exhaustion melts into his bones and he drops his shoulders, ignores the alarm that goes off in his brain. 

“Not tonight.”

He swallows, meets Eddie halfway when Eddie tilts his head up to kiss him. He frowns, lets his eyes fall shut when Eddie’s hand comes up to cup the side of his face, and parts his lips.

Barry pulls away for a breath when Eddie’s hand travels down his chest and underneath the hem of his shirt, thumb stroking the sensitive skin of his hip. He opens his eyes, doesn’t fight the bottomlessness in his stomach as he gently brushes Eddie’s hand away and takes a step back.

“Hey,” he says, clears his throat. He smiles, lifting his eyebrows. “I’m starving.”

Eddie breathes out a chuckle and nods, gives Barry’s hand a squeeze before letting go and heading to the nearby kitchen. Barry quietly follows him, hands tucked into his pockets as an unsteadiness not unlike the sensation of a plane dropping several hundred feet in the air settles in his stomach.

They eat by the kitchen island, knees touching whenever Eddie shifts to take a sip of Barry’s beer even though he hasn’t finished his own. Barry smiles for Eddie’s sake, even if just to see that small blush across Eddie’s cheeks, perfectly mirroring the heat trapped in Barry’s chest.

Eddie talks but Barry doesn’t really listen; he nods, watches the way Eddie’s lips shape around his words, looks away when it’s too-much-too-fast and he forgets how to breathe.

Maybe it’s selfish, maybe it’s just him not wanting to feel the responsibility of breaking Eddie’s heart when he eventually tells Eddie the truth, but maybe Eddie never has to know. 

Another week and Hartley will have figured something out and Barry will go back home, where everything’s how it’s _supposed_ to be, and Eddie will have his boyfriend back. His actual boyfriend, _his_ Barry, the person he’s so in love with ‘property of Barry Allen’ might as well be stamped on his forehead.

Barry smiles to himself, shoulders suddenly stiff. Eddie gives him a curious look.

“What?”

“Nothing, just,” Barry shakes his head, genuinely smiles. He glances at Eddie, chest growing tighter by the second. “You seem happy.”

Eddie grins, leans in close to give Barry a chaste kiss that barely computes in Barry’s brain, and says, “ _You_ make me happy, Barry Allen.”

The words echo and imprint themselves on the back of Barry’s head until Barry learns to ignore them. He gives Eddie an empty smile and drinks his beer, mentally cursing the universe as the alcohol doesn’t affect him whatsoever. 

A blow to the stomach would probably hurt less.

*

Barry never stopped to think of the implications of spending the weekend at Eddie’s.

Sleeping on the same bed seemed like no big deal when Caitlin’d suggested he try to keep things as normal as possible, for Eddie’s sake. Kissing, even, he could handle; Eddie’s far from unattractive, even if Barry’s not necessarily attracted to men—or Eddie in particular, bar a few occasional dreams that he blames solely on exhaustion.

But this, this is something else.

Barry’s a scientist. He’s not unacquainted with everyday bodily functions, especially in the morning. What his brain’s having a hard time processing, however, is the fact that Eddie is pressed to his side, his cheek to Barry’s chest and hips pushed against Barry’s thigh, making it almost impossible not to memorize every curve of his body.

Barry lies there for the longest he’s ever stayed put in one place, counting to a thousand and back in his head until Eddie stirs awake and pushes far enough away that Barry can breathe in the safety of his own personal space.

Eddie presses a kiss to Barry’s shoulder and mutters, “Hey,” against the cotton of Barry’s shirt, thumb rubbing a warm spot on Barry’s hip.

A vein in Barry’s forehead almost pops at the strain as his entire body spasms. He rolls to the side and off the bed, mentions having to pee and flees to the bathroom, door locked safely behind him.

Breathing doesn’t come any easier away from Eddie. There’s still a hundred pounds sitting on his rib cage, pressed tight against his chest. He runs a hand over his face and sighs, takes a step towards the sink to bury his face under the cold water until he can’t hear his heart hammering in his ears.

After a moment, there’s quiet knock on the door. “Babe, your phone’s ringing,” Eddie says.

Barry dries his face with a towel that smells like Eddie’s cologne, stares at his reflection at the mirror. “I’ll be right out.”

Eddie makes a sound in acknowledgment. Barry hears his footsteps fade in the distance and opens the door, tiptoes to the nightstand where his phone sits.

_1 missed call from Caitlin at 8:43am._

He grabs his phone and calls her back, stepping outside into the small balcony. He closes his eyes as he waits for the call to connect, breathes in the crisp morning air until his lungs hurt. Caitlin’s voice greets him on the other side of the line and he says, “Hey, Cait.”

“Did I wake you?”

Barry offers her a humorless chuckle. “No,” he says, simply. “Any news?” Silence. “Caitlin?”

She makes a sound in her throat, uncertain. “Cisco and Hartley might have found something.”

Barry’s heart flutters. “I’ll be right there,” he says, and waits until she says, “Okay, we’ll be here,” before he hangs up.

He stumbles back inside, throws his clothes back on, brushes his teeth and doesn’t remember to fix his bed hair at all. He finds Eddie in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in hand, kisses him without thinking, says, “I have to go, Eddie.”

In half a second, he’s back at S.T.A.R. Labs, toes numb from adrenaline. He turns and finds Caitlin as she walks over to the cortex, a worried crease in her brow. A flurry of flying papers slowly sets on the floor. 

Cisco mutters, “Someone’s really gotta invest in a paperweight around here.”

“Hey,” Caitlin says, her voice solemn, nodding to the side. Barry swallows, trailing behind her until she stops and crosses her arms, looks up at him through her lashes. “I don’t think you should do this.”

“Do what?”

“Mr. Allen.”

Barry twists his neck to look at Wells. There are dark circles under his eyes and it doesn’t look like he’s had a change of clothes since yesterday—actually, neither has Hartley or Caitlin, and they look just as exhausted. Barry opens his mouth but doesn’t say a word. Hartley pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, exchanging a look with Wells. Caitlin looks down at her feet.

Have they been fighting?

“Guys, what’s goin’ on?” he asks, out of breath, and silence stretches thin in the air.

It’s Wells who speaks first, taking another step into the cortex, “I believe we have found your doppelganger, Mr. Allen.”

“You—what?” Barry breathes. “Alive?”

“There’s no way to know,” Hartley tells him. Barry has the sudden urge to punch something. “But if he’s been in your timeline, you might be able to go back.”

The ground turns to gelatin beneath his feet. He’s going home? He glances at Caitlin and back at Hartley. “Are you sure?”

“Might is the imperative word, here,” Cisco offers.

A switch flips between Barry’s spine and head and he leans against the nearest vertical surface for balance. The knot in his throat makes it impossible to breathe. He stares at his feet for a moment, regaining his focus, and asks, quietly, “But?”

He hears Caitlin release a long, shaky breath. She turns and walks away without a word, the sound of her heels echoing in the silent room. Cisco goes into the med bay after her and Barry’s stomach twists and turns. Hartley slides his hands inside his pockets.

“Our Barry seems to be stuck,” Hartley says.

“Stuck, where?”

“There’s a rift, between timelines. A void, so to speak.” Barry nods at Hartley, runs a hand down the side of his neck. “If you’re running from something—like a Time Wraith—you can get lost and fall into a kind of limbo.”

Barry doesn’t bother asking how they came across that bit of information, but something tells him Cisco had something to do with it, and there’s something they’re not telling him.

“Can I reach him?” he asks.

Hartley looks at him. Barry feels transparent.

“You can.” Wells’ voice startles him, and Barry unpeels his eyes from Hartley’s to look at Wells instead. “You can, however, fall into the rift.”

Barry searches for Caitlin’s eyes across the room, sees the redness in them even from afar, and his heart skips a beat. Cisco rubs her shoulder, eyebrows pushed together, and whispers something Barry can’t hear. Barry looks away. 

Is this what his life’s come to? Choosing who he’ll hurt _less_?

He closes his eyes. Eddie deserves to have the love of his life back. If Barry’s the one who needs to do it, he will. There’s no question about it.

“How soon can I do it?” he asks.

Hartley raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure, Barry?”

“I’m sure. How soon?”

“An hour,” says Wells. 

Barry nods. He gives Caitlin one last look. “Let’s get to it.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.

Barry hears Hartley before he sees him, catlike footsteps to his right, almost too quiet to hear. He doesn’t open his eyes, barely even moves as Hartley’s voice fills the silence.

“Ready when you are,” Hartley says, and leaves as softly as he came, the ghost of his oddly gentle presence still unfamiliar to Barry.

Barry sighs and rubs at his eyes, letting his head fall back and hit the wall with a thud. 

Earth-2 was fundamentally different—the atmosphere, the technology, the history—and it _felt_ different. The way his lungs had to adjust to the purer air, the way his eyes took in the warmer light. It kept him grounded. 

This timeline doesn’t feel that different because it isn’t. It’s easier to get used to, familiar enough that he can overlook the different fabric softener, the black-not-white marker, or the ridiculous curtains in his bedroom at Joe’s. 

Even the. . . situation with Eddie, it’s not completely foreign. The sideways glances followed by the curve of Eddie’s lips at work when Eddie thinks Barry’s not looking, the blush across Eddie’s cheeks when they accidentally touch—Barry had that with Patty, and it was good. It coiled warm and happy in his stomach and it was _good_. 

He knows what Eddie sees when Eddie looks at him, and it both petrifies him and amazes him. After Patty left, he didn’t think he’d have that again, and now he does, in the worst of circumstances.

Eddie loves him, or at least a version of him.

His fingers close tight around the phone in his hand. He opens his eyes to stare at the screen, Eddie’s name staring back in bold black letters as if in contempt. He presses _call_ and brings the phone to his ear, waits with a breath wedged in his throat. His suit weighs a thousand pounds against his ribs.

Barry lets out a strangled sigh as he hears Eddie’s prerecorded voice. Frustration curls in his chest. 

If something happens to him—or not, it doesn’t matter, does it?—Eddie deserves to know. Regardless, Eddie deserves to know. Barry might not love Eddie, but he would never intentionally hurt him.

Never.

Barry drops the call. 

He’s hurt Eddie before. He never thought Iris would forgive him, but she did. Maybe she never blamed him in the first place, but that doesn’t change the fact that she lost Eddie because of him, because he couldn't stop Eobard, so Eddie had to. 

He has no right to lie about this, to deceive Eddie like this. It’s cruel and unfair and the guilt tastes bitter on his tongue. Eddie has a right to know that his boyfriend—his actual boyfriend—is lost and alone somewhere and Barry has the power to do something about it.

“Fuck,” Barry murmurs, and calls again. 

Eddie doesn’t pick up.

“Hey, Eddie,” he says when it goes to voicemail again. “I’m really sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to leave like that.” His voice gets caught in his throat. Barry breathes out, worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “Listen,” he restarts. “There’s something I haven’t told you.

“I guess I was scared. I didn’t want to hurt you—and I’m not trying to justify it, I’m not, I just—I didn’t think—” Barry closes his eyes and rubs at them, the leather of his gloved hand warm against his skin. “I didn’t think it would turn out this way. I should’ve told you," he says, lets the words sink into his brain before he adds, “I’m not who you think I am, and you deserved to know that, you did. I’m going to make this right, Eddie.” He breathe sin. “I’m sorry.”

Barry hangs up, leaves his phone on the table and stands on wobbly knees as he puts his mask back on. 

Barry meets Caitlin’s eyes as he approaches the team near the particle accelerator. She looks down at her feet and back up, drags her heel against the floor before offering him a nod. He smiles, a lump dissolving in his throat when she returns the gesture.

He’s surprised when Hartley pulls him into a hug, arms around his shoulders, gloved hand patting his back. Barry smiles as they break apart, squeezes Hartley’s arm. “Thank you,” Barry whispers, the words bitter on his tongue, “for everything.” 

He holds Hartley’s gaze for a moment, watches an almost imperceptible frown flash across Hartley’s brow.

“Ready, Mr. Allen?” 

Barry blinks. He nods and goes over every step in his head, every precaution he needs to take to ensure he doesn’t screw up this time. 

“Godspeed, Barry,” is the last thing he hears before he speeds into the particle accelerator and the wormhole engulfs him, Caitlin’s voice disappearing in the distance. 

Nothingness encompasses him as if he got sucked into outer space, flashes of lives he’s never lived play in the background, muted sounds and images that he chooses to ignore. Barry’s chest tightens in sensory overdrive as he runs, his legs developing lives of their own.

There’s an electric buzz in the far distance, a magnetic pull that drags him closer until everything loses color. He stops, unable to see or hear, and a faint yellow blur slowly comes alive to his right. He takes a careful step in its direction, says, _hello?_ but no sound comes out.

His limbs double in weight as he moves closer. A dull pain stabs him in the chest and he falls forward, lets out a silent scream that leaves his throat sore. A ghostlike, gray hand sticks out from his chest and he coughs, feels blood drip warm and thick from the corner of his mouth. 

The world freezes and stands on the verge of splintering apart. He closes his eyes, braces himself on his arms as his last breath leaves him, and Iris pops into his mind.

Barry can’t recall the color of her eyes, or the sound of her laugh, or the pressure of her thumb as it slides across his knuckles. He can’t recall the scent of Joe’s—his, _their_ —home. 

He can’t remember Eddie's touch.

Barry tenses.

Desperation twists in his stomach and it takes him a moment to realize the feeling doesn’t belong to him. He closes his eyes, focuses on that distant hum that slowly inches closer until bright yellow spots dance behind his eyelids. Something shoves past him and he stumbles forward. He breathes—finally, finally, thank god—and rolls to the side.

Barry blinks once, shakes his head until everything swims back into focus, and finds his doppelganger standing above him, the Time Wraith shrieking in pain as yellow lightning shoots through it. His double’s suit is tattered and torn across the chest and arms, blood staining the red leather. 

Something in Barry’s chest shifts in discomfort. He wipes at his mouth and scrambles to his feet, grabs his doppelganger by the arm and rushes into the darkness, pushes his limit as far as it’ll go. 

The screech of the Time Wraith follows them through the void. Barry runs until silence encloses them, collapses. They fall in a tangle of limbs, the metallic scent of blood filling Barry’s nostrils as he inhales. He pushes himself up to sit on his heels and drags other-Barry’s body closer to him, head on his lap.

“Hey, hey,” he says, pulls their masks back to make it easier to breathe. “I’ve got you.”

The other Barry stares up at him through unfocused eyes, pupils blown wide. There’s a large, dark bruise right over his heart; Barry wants to touch but doesn’t. A faint light envelops them, the only source of light in the immensity of black, and Barry pulls other-Barry tighter against him, can hear the rake of his breath through his back.

“Stay with me, alright? Eddie needs you.” Other-Barry’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, his worry palpable in the nothingness wrapping them. Barry forces out a smile. “He’s fine. He’s perfectly fine, but I need you to be strong. I’m gonna get us out of here.”

Something twists in Barry’s stomach. He breathes, short bursts of air that taste of blood, and his fingers shake as he wraps an arm around his doppelganger's waist and another around the back of his knees, lifting him up.

The blurred shape of the Time Wraith forms in the distant black. Barry adjusts his grip on his other self and runs until he’s pulled out of the void. 

“Eddie,” he hears in his own voice as if it’s aged twenty years, and looks down to see his double’s mouth shaping around Eddie’s name over and over. He coughs up blood and it slides thick down the side of his pale face. Barry winces. “Please. . .”

Barry can’t make out the next words. 

A mix of images and sensations pop in his mind: the gentle pressure of Eddie’s teeth closing around his bottom lip, the sound of Eddie’s gleeful little chuckle as he sings in the shower, the warmth of Eddie’s bare chest pressed up to his—no, not his. 

_He_ ’s never felt that, any of that.

“Please,” he hears. “Promise me.”

Barry crashes back into his alternate timeline with such a force that it knocks the air out of him. He changes his grip on the other Barry’s middle and holds him close to his chest as they stagger and roll onto the floor inside the cortex. Barry slowly peels himself away.

“Hey,” he whimpers, panic clawing its way of out his chest as he sees his reflection staring blankly ahead. Caitlin makes a horrified sound somewhere behind him; her heels clatter against the floor as she runs over. “No. No, no, no,” Barry cries out. He leans in close and—nothing. No breathing. He shoves at his gloves until they’re off, presses two fingers to Barry’s neck; the skin is clammy and lifeless against his. 

He retakes his grip on Barry’s body and rushes into the med bay. Papers scatter and flutter around them, suspended in air as he presses hard against Barry’s ribs, his arms almost giving out under him. There’s a sharp crack of bone and he chokes out an ugly sob. He breathes into Barry’s mouth, Barry’s lips dry beneath his, but there’s no change, no movement, no sudden intake of air.

He slides to the floor, eyes prickling with tears and a hole in his chest the size of Central City. Rushed footsteps stride into the room and Barry can’t bring himself to look up. Caitlin hurries to the unmoving body lying on the gurney, her figure only a dark smudge from behind his tears.

Barry brings his knees close to his body. His chest hurts in a mild, distant way; it doesn’t matter. He’s not about to move. Caitlin says something, speaks over Cisco who speaks over Hartley and Barry can’t make out a single word, doesn’t even try. 

He’s never felt so little, so insignificant. He could crawl out of his skin and leave it pooled at everyone’s feet and it wouldn’t hurt at all. 

“I’ve been trying to call—” 

Barry’s neck snaps up at the sound of Eddie’s voice. Eddie searches and finds Barry’s gaze and Barry opens his mouth, wipes at his wet cheeks in a useless attempt to get the numbness to stop. 

Eddie’s brow furrows and the phone in his hand falls and shatters, not unlike his voice. 

He breathes, “Barry?”


End file.
